


What He Had, And What He Has Now

by AppleTeeth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst Warning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleTeeth/pseuds/AppleTeeth
Summary: Sex, Safety, Health, Food, Shelter: Five different basic human needs Bruce Banner was once in desperate need of, and five times he received them in spades.I wanted to write some little scenes showing Bruce's life before he became an Avenger and the comparison now with each member of the team. A little bit of Thor/Bruce but everyone gets their turn making sure he's okay.





	1. Sex

In the dim evening light, the guy looked intimidating in his stature. In fact, he was probably only a few inches taller than Bruce, but he deliberately held his head high and wore shirts too small for him to make him seem like a real threat to everyone around him. He had the stereotypical look of a truck driver, including the beefy arms with the left more tanned than the right. His resting face was a scowl and he clearly looked like he had been in enough fights in his life. It was shocking, then, that he was polite when he asked Bruce his price. 

There was no need to go somewhere where Bruce could fully take in every detail - in fact, the darker, the better. Bruce had asked for at least proof that payment was on hand before he nodded towards the street behind the row of small stores. They were all shut up for the night, and they would find somewhere where those living above them would not notice what was happening below. Making it quick was Bruce’s best plan.

The guy followed Bruce obediently, as if he was new to this sort of transaction, when in actuality Bruce was the one making it up as he went along. He’d run out of other options two days ago, and how he had lost all sense of pride in the simple matter that he really needed a fucking meal. At least his clothes looked nicer than normal, but then he had deliberately picked out a smart suit to steal from the launderettes. 

His hair could definitely do with cutting though, which he realised when the man got impatient and gripped a handful of curls and pushed their lips together. Bruce’s eyes widened in panic as he was forced against the building and he wanted to struggle because god help him if this wasn’t the most intimate and invasive experience since the accident, but he really needed that fifty dollars. So instead he made his best effort for a pleasing sound and let the guy run his hands over his body as he kissed him sloppily.

Within minutes Bruce was on his knees, trying not to look up at the man as he reached for his jeans fly. He gritted his teeth momentarily before pulling down the stranger’s briefs just enough to release his cock and hated the fact that he had never done this with someone he cared for when he had had the chance. 

“Oh yeah…” the man mumbled as Bruce wrapped his lips around his cock and he felt hands in his hair, urging him to take more in. He complied, breathing in a heavy musk that was so foreign it made him want to gag more so than the member in his mouth. Smell was now a heavy indicator for him and the guy stank of thousands of other shameful meetings in back alleyways, a woman’s perfume faint in the background indicating he was someone’s sweetheart back home. He tried to block out the fact that he was adding to the circle of misery and just concentrate on getting this guy off and fast. He wrapped his hand around the base for leverage and tried to ignore the crick starting in his neck as he bobbed his head. 

Minutes later and Bruce’s jaw was beginning to ache. With a quick glance up, the man looked no more excited than when he had started. So he was lousy at it on top of hating it. The man was getting impatient too, because the hands in his hair gripped even tighter and Bruce found himself being forced to take more and at a faster pass. He nearly gagged and for a moment his view turned a bright hue of green as the member now hit the back of his throat. He wanted to stop but the green was fading and he was too hungry and too exhausted to think of another way out, so he breathed through his nose and moaned as he guy fucked his mouth until he thought his neck might snap. Finally the man was grunting and swearing with heavier breathes, indicating that at least this disgusting experience would be at an end soon enough.

Bruce’s first meal in three whole days was a stranger’s semen and he felt nothing but relief. He swallowed thickly and wiped his mouth with the back of his shirt cuff, now finally noticing how much he was shaking.

“Forty, right?” The man said, zipping himself up as Bruce remained kneeling.

“Fifty,” Bruce replied and was immediately kicked in the gut. He gasped as he curled in on himself and felt four crumpled ten dollar bills hit his face. 

\---

He could barely acknowledge what was happening, what with him still seeing the world in green and his mind foggy, but he did know he was somewhere safe. As his nerve-endings started to reboot, he could feel warmth surrounding him and sheltering him from the elements. Bruce could hear someone directly above him speaking softly but with a bass that vibrated through his entire body. 

Thor.

He said the name outloud, and the mighty god looked down at him with a wide, toothy grin. It was then Bruce finally comprehended that he was being carried, bridal-style, by his teammate. The world was bouncing around him and he could see they were nearing the quinjet, the engines already fired up for a quick exit. 

It was more than likely they had to leave extremely quickly and they didn’t have time to wait for Bruce to come to his senses and head back on his own. He understood that, but it still didn’t make his current situation any less strange.

Thor was now jogging, as if he had been told to get a move on, and he clutched Bruce a little tighter. Bruce wanted to tell him he was now fully awake so he could run himself, but honestly they were nearly there and it would only delay them.

Besides, he was ashamed to admit just how comfortable he felt.

“Evacuation a success,” Thor said to the others as he jumped into the quinjet just as it was taking off. He placed Bruce down on one of the more cosy chairs and Bruce couldn’t help but groan thankfully. He heard one or two comments around him but he didn’t give a shit enough to actively listen. 

“You know, technically you just carried him over a threshold,” Tony noted, eyes on the flight path as he piloted. “Who is taking whose surname?”

Thor chuckled and patted Bruce on the shoulder before standing up. 

Bruce opened and closed his eyes a few times and found he had wrapped his arms around himself without realising. He hadn’t been held close - hell, hugged - in a long time. People weren’t shy around him but they all saw him flinch or look uncomfortable if they touched him too much. In actuality, Bruce would love to ask them to stay with him and maybe even give him the contact he needed, but he had spent a long time avoiding making contact in case it caused him to hurt them. He also could not stand the loss he felt when he had to let go, possibly forever, depending on his actions. It was better to avoid people in the first place.

He almost cried out in shock when a careful hand was placed on his shoulder again. Thor sat down next to him and concerned, kind eyes met with Bruce’s.

“You seem lost, my friend.”

Bruce had stiffened up his body, his nerves on fire as he tried to process that warm, comforting hand on his bare shoulder. Without thinking, he put his hand on top of Thor’s, willing it to stay put.

“Sorry,” he muttered, too embarrassed to elaborate further. 

“Why are you apologising?” Thor squeezed Bruce’s shoulder and then moved closer so he could wrap his arm around both of them, pulling Bruce towards him. “You fought gallantly today and now you require the companionship of your teammates.”

Bruce could have cried, the warmth and comfort and smells enveloping him. He found himself being hugged so his back rested against Thor’s solid chest, their breathing steady and perfectly in rhythm. 

“Somebody’s comfy,” Clint said to both of them. Bruce snapped out of his delighted peacefulness and went to break away but Thor kept him put with the lightest squeeze. 

“I don’t suppose we could have some privacy?” Thor asked, and Bruce felt a quick kiss planted on the top of his head. He tried to look anywhere but at Clint. “The doctor is need of tenderness and I am more than willing to assist.”

Clint raised his hands in defeat and left them to it. Bruce wanted to say something, defend himself, possibly tell Thor that he wasn’t his blushing bride, but in all honestly he was willing to let everything slide if he could stay in Thor’s arms for the rest of his damned life.


	2. Health

_It’s just a flesh wound_ , he told himself for the eightieth time, now to the point where his internal monologue sounded like John Cleese in a black suit of armour. He chuckled through gritted teeth, starting to feel a little delirious because cuts shouldn’t make his head swim and his body sweat. Not when he knew how to treat them, anyway. He knew how to keep wounds clean and what kept fever at bay, but being stuck in the middle of the desert with just a precious amount of water and a few band aids meant he useless. He should have stitched it up hours ago, but the needle he had was from a cheap sewing kit and he had nothing to sterilize it with, so he apparently had thought a gaping open wound might be the safer option.

Idiot.

He sat down on the ground, holding his increasingly numb arm and looking towards the horizon for any signs of life. He’d been in sorrier situations, but this one was in the top ten. Having two energy bars left and a large bottle of water, he might be able to keep the vultures at bay for three days if he was careful. However, without treating what he once thought was a simple cut, he was now just waiting for his defenses to collapse. And that meant he would be Hulking out very soon. 

The change was always a shock to him. In an attempt to protect himself, he somehow forgot the pain of his body changing and so when he felt the rumble of life under his skin and saw the green overwhelm his vision, he would always cry out in terror and beg himself to stop. Because then he’d be at mercy of the monster, and with nothing but glimmers of what had happened, he would lose hours or possibly days and wake up in a different landscape and having to scrape together his survival kit once more. 

And he was lousy at it. Before the accident, people were lucky if he agreed to go for a walk anywhere near greenery, much less go camping or live without modern comforts. He had spent his life cooped up in either libraries or laboratories and he would have been happy seeing only sunlight when he had to open the door for the pizza delivery guy. Now he was trying to light fires in thunderstorms, setting up crappy tents in bogs and gather water in deserts. He could throw together a laptop from the disused parts found in a landfill, but God help him he could not put together a meal, even if he woke up in an orchard.

His arm was now completely numb and he sighed tiredly as he had to shuck off his backpack, hat and flannel shirt. He removed his boots and stood up, knowing the change was coming and maybe, just maybe, if he welcomed it, it would not feel like a bear tearing him from the inside out. 

 

\-----

“Got a band-aid, doc?”

Bruce looked up from his tablet and saw the sorry state before him. Hawkeye - Clint - was holding his badly patched up arm with gritted teeth, though he was managing to smile all the same. He had heard Clint, Steve and Natasha had left for a mission last night, and was glad to hear they had been successful a few hours ago. 

He just didn’t expect he’d be the one Clint would go see once they had returned.

“Shouldn’t you go to the SHIELD doctor on call? Or the ER?”

“I really should, shouldn’t I?” Clint sighed but proceeded to jump up onto Bruce’s workstation all the same, pushing aside his papers until it looked more like an examining table.

Bruce breathed in heavily before standing up and pulling out his emergency kit. If he was ever conscious during or after a battle, he tried to do his best to help the civilians, even if it was just the most basic first aid before the real emergency services showed up. A little karma-swaying in an effort to feel less guilty about the Hulk-shaped holes he would inevitably see everywhere.

Apparently to the rest of the team, that meant he was the resident physician on call. 

He stood over Clint and didn’t touch him until he gave him a small nod. Immediately as Bruce touched his shoulder, Clint hissed through his teeth and banged his other hand on the table.

“It’s not broken, just dislocated.”

“Oh good. It’s happened before, just pop it back in,” Clint said, trying to sound dismissive but his whole body clenched in fearful anticipation.

Bruce braced one hand against the back of Clint’s shoulder as he got ready to pull the arm back into the socket. “You really shouldn’t be fighting if you have a history of dislocation. It’s only going to get worse.”

“It’s not my shooting arm, it’s fine.”

“So it’s the arm that needs to keep a bow perfectly steady?” Bruce asked with an arched eyebrow. 

“What, you’re going to bench me? Write me a sick note from playing with the other Avengers?”

“Oh please, I could write off all of you, the amount of times I’ve done this,” Bruce laughed and used that opportunity to pull on Clint’s arm until he heard the loud pop that indicated the arm was back in place. Clint swore about ten different ways before collapsing back and lying on the table in exhaustion.

He let Clint breathe through the pain for a few minutes before he carefully applied a series of bandages and straps to ensure Clint’s arm stayed put until it healed properly. He then administered a good amount of painkillers before getting to work on the various cuts Clint had obtained. All the while, Clint watched him at work, and Bruce wasn’t sure if it was either out of curiosity or making sure he was doing a good job.

“You don’t get sick, do you?” Clint asked, completely out of the blue. He had been so quiet, Bruce had nearly forgotten who he was treating. He mulled over his answer for a moment, keeping a steady hand as he stitched up a particularly bad cut on Clint’s torso. 

“I do, but the Hulk heals me when I change. I haven’t kept even a paper cut scar since the accident.” He looked up at Clint and pointed at his chin. “See this? Shaving cut from when I was eighteen and it won’t go away. I think even the other guy has it, when I’ve looked at photos. But you could shoot a hole in my stomach and it’ll heal by the time I wake up again.”

“That sounds awesome,” his patient sighed, which was the last thing Bruce expected to hear.

“Really?”

Clint waved his good arm down his body with a cocked eyebrow. “Well it sure as shit beats being the mortal punching bag of the team.”

“Except when I heal, I don’t know if I’m going to save people or kill people. It’s not a good trade-off.” Bruce didn’t mean to sound irritated, but his voice failed his usual forced-calm exterior.

“Oh please. We’ve all got our pacts with the devil. You can complain all you want, but it must be nice knowing a bad landing won’t bench you for life.”

And indeed he couldn’t deny that. 

“Hold still,” he chastised and Clint let him patch up the rest of his wounds without another word.


	3. Safety

His ears were ringing when he finally woke up. The loud, shrill, constant tone made him instinctively hit his ear in annoyance before he tried opening his eyes. When he did, there was a green tint to everything he saw. He blinked several times and the tint faded then returned, like someone was switching a green light on and off. 

He focused first on the small fire in the far corner of the room. Then the rest of the destruction came into focus. He groaned in pain and he tried to lift himself up and out of a rubble and his whole body felt like he had been mountain climbing. 

Then his eyes fixed on the body near him. Grunting in pain, he clambered to his feet and found that whilst he felt like he had been beaten black and blue, a quick glance down at his own body showed he miraculously seemed to be unharmed. He dragged himself over to the body and gasped when he recognised who it was.

“Betty… oh my god…” he said, turning her over gently and seeing the blood running down her forehead. He immediately checked her pulse with shaking hands and she was alive, but she was unresponsive no matter how many times he said her name.

It took him a while to remember what had happened. It took him even longer to realise the destroyed husk of a room he was in had to be his laboratory. The testing facility, to be exact. More bodies were strewn across the room and he struggled to get to his feet to check them too.

Before he had made it three steps, he heard loud footsteps and he went back to Betty’s side quickly, in case whoever did this was going to try to finish the job.

“Freeze!”

Everywhere he looked, he saw guns pointing right at him. He was still nauseous and in agony from whatever had happened, his clothes torn and his body filthy, but he clung onto the unconscious form in his arms in a poor attempt to protect her.

“Let her go,” one of the many uniformed soldiers barked at him.

“I don’t… wait…” Bruce tried, his whole body trembling. “Betty, please wake up…”

“Release the woman, stand up and put your hands in the air.”

He’d never had a gun pointed at him before. He’d been threatened and had his fair share of beatings, but this was new and it scared him to his very core. 

“Why are you… what happened?” he tried again. “What happened to my lab?”

“You have ten seconds to comply or we open fire,” the same soldier barked at him and the guns surrounding him readjusted to point at his head. 

“Who did this?!” he yelled. 

“Put your hands in the air, monster!”

And he meant to, because he was confused and in pain but he wasn’t stupid. However, those words made him shake in terror, maybe because his dad had called him the same thing during one of his more violent drunken rages.

Or maybe because it was at that moment his brain decided to show him a short, angry flashback to twenty minutes ago when a powerful, furious beast he was apparently inhabiting decided to throw one of his grad students across the room. Either way, he tried to put Betty down and put his hands in the air, but instead he screamed in shock and one of the soldiers saw the flash of green in his eyes and fired before the monster could attack again.

Only within seconds of the bullet hitting Bruce’s chest, and he was groaning in a deeper and deeper voice, pleading through garbled words for someone to help him because his skin was burning and he felt like his bones were too big for his body.

The last thing Bruce saw, before his second ever transformation, was an oversized hand apparently belonging to him striking the soldier that had shot him so hard that they crumpled to the ground like a paper doll. 

\---

“Are you going to keep staring at it or are you going to use it?”

Bruce turned his head upwards, his eyes lingering on the heavy item in his hand for as long as possible before he looked at Natasha. She was standing slightly to the left of him, her arms folded but looking far more inquisitive than impatient. Like she honestly wanted him to answer her question. 

“I think it’s safer if I just stare at it.”

She realised what he meant by that and she extracted the information.

“You’ve never used a gun before.”

He nodded, then corrected himself. “Except--”

“Except on yourself. And that is a very easy target.”

“No kidding. I put the damn thing in my mouth, I thought I’d miss if I didn’t.”

That got a smile out of her, which he was grateful for because he wasn’t in the mood for a pity party. It was so easy to talk to Natasha. There was no need to bullshit or pussyfoot around her and no need to sugarcoat anything to make what he said more palatable. She listened, gave her opinions and didn’t let him walk away until they had a resolution. And she had a wicked sense of humour, which he really appreciated in their fucked up little team.

“You never know, you might be a natural,” she said with a smile.

“Or I might shoot myself in the foot. Both of them, with one bullet.”

Natasha picked up her own weapon and examined it from each angle before aiming it towards their target. She shot three clean holes through the silhouette of a human right where the heart would be in approximately two seconds, then put the gun back down on the table in front of them. 

“And yet you asked for this training,” she stated, as if she was carrying on the conversation without the impressive interlude. Bruce was still forcing his muscles to relax and his body to stop closing in on itself. 

Were he feeling like an asshole, he would tell her off for trying to freak him out, but he knew what she was doing. Guns and violence were par the course in their lives and if he kept shrieking in shock every time a bullet was fired, he was never going to find control. 

He finally placed his gun down on the table and moved away from the firing range.

“I would like to… feel less useless. Less like you all need to protect me when my other side isn’t needed.”

“You’re more capable than you think.”

If anyone else had said that, he would think they were trying to be kind to him. Because it was Natasha, he smiled softly.

“Thank you. But I could do better. Steve is teaching me some combat moves, Thor is giving me lessons on war tactics, Clint is getting me scoping out my surroundings better, Tony… well… he’s trying to build me a suit which is just hilarious,” He paused to take in a slow breath. “And I need you to teach me to use my body to fight in any way I can.”

“Starting with guns.”

“I thought it would break the ice,” he shrugged. “Plus, like I said, I only know about them when they’re pointed at me.”

She paused for a second before she asked her next question.

“How many times have you been shot? As yourself, specifically.”

He huffed out a large breath then laughed softly. “Wow, now that’s a sixty-four thousand dollar question right there.”

“Ballpark, then.”

“Eight. Nine. Um… let’s say ten and other times I’ve forgotten about.”

“I’ve been shot three times.” She pointed at her right flank, her shoulder and her left knee-cap. “Each time, I barely made it out alive. So, we need you to fight before they have a chance to shoot and prevent you from changing unwillingly.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then you need to learn more than firing straight. Come on,” and she cocked her head to one side as she headed towards the door. 

“Wait… But I…”

“You’re not firing a single bullet until you can block a punch from me and outrun my stings. Then you can return fire.”


	4. Food

This was routine. He had the system down flawlessly and now that he had picked the joint, he knew he just had to ensure he didn’t fuck it up.

He tried to find the nicest clothes that fit him, to start, and stole a good selection of clothes from the laundromat that morning. He had to at least look like he had some money on him or else he wouldn’t even get through the door. He finally decided on jeans, a checkered shirt and a baseball cap, so he figured so long as each item was clean and almost, sort-of, ironed, he didn’t look any different than any other thirty-something who had finished work for the day. His face was unshaven, though, so he hoped he looked more casual than homeless. 

The place wasn’t fancy but it also wasn’t dirt-cheap. He felt guilty robbing from the places barely scraping to stay afloat. At those joints, he’d offer to help out with any jobs they needed doing for a meal instead. Sometimes offering to replace a few bulbs and fix the customer toilet was a godsend for small family businesses.. 

He sat down at a booth and was friendly and kind to the waitress. He wasn’t about to try to hide himself away, not when he was leaving town that night. He asked about the specials and laughed along when she raved about the steak and macaroni. 

“How about the salad?”

“Oh please, you don’t want that,” she teased. “Besides, everything comes with a salad on the side.”

“I could be watching my weight, for all you know.”

“You seem fit enough to me,” she stated a little too quickly, and she flipped up her notepad to hide the fact that her cheeks had gone slightly red.

Her embarrassment was enough to stop Bruce dwelling on the fact that he had lost at least a third of his body weight in the past two years, not to mention at that precise moment he hadn’t eaten since the day before.

“In that case, I’ll have the burger, with a side of macaroni.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “And to drink?”

“Iced tea. Thank you.”

He ate his meal with relaxed ease, though his eyes glanced over at the waitress and other members of staff, making sure he knew where they were. He didn’t finish his meal, even though he really wanted to, and left enough on his plate to look like he was definitely coming back.

He waved at the waitress as he walked to the entrance, pushing a cigarette behind his ear and stepping outside, not too fast but also with the pace of someone who really needed a smoke. Then he just kept walking, through the car park and down the street, picking up into a run just in case someone had noticed what he had done. 

By the time the waitress had noticed he had gone, he had already thumbed his next ride out of town.

\---

It hadn’t meant to become routine - the team gathering in the kitchen-come-dining room in what they had all somehow agreed was their communal area after every battle - but there Bruce found himself, holding up his pants with one hand whilst the other was trying to finish brushing off the dirt from the bare chest and arms. He flopped down onto one of the chairs at the breakfast nook and combed his fingers through his hair that showered more dried dirt onto the table. 

He remembered they had arrived at the sight of the invasion of… things (he didn’t get a good enough look at the aliens before he had changed) and it was raining steadily. When he had woken up again, his bare skin was ready to blister from the strength of the mid-afternoon sun. Apparently the Hulk had been rolling around in mud baths, from what he could tell.

He continued to shake out the dirt as Steve entered, holding his bandaged left arm tightly as he made a beeline for the massive refrigerator.

“Are you hungry, Doc?” He asked this every time - again, as part of their post-battle routine - even though he was aware of what the transformation did to his metabolism.

“Are you offering to cook?” Bruce asked, not looking up as he now started to pick clumps of dirt from the back of his neck.

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Steve laughed. “Remember, I grew up thinking boiled cabbage was a treat.”

So Bruce stood up, fist clutching his torn pants once again and he nudged Steve gently out of the way to see what was in the fridge. It was slim pickings as they hadn’t been in the same building (some on the same continents or even realms) for a few weeks now. 

“Shall I order take-out?” Steve offered but Bruce shook his head. He grabbed almost everything perishable and a few key staple ingredients before dumping them on the counter and rummaging through the cupboards for other needed items. 

Steve leaned against the counter, fascinated as Bruce started to mix together the ingredients, clearly making a recipe up as he went alone but confident in his methods. He kept quiet and worked quickly, now working three burners at once as he started to fill the kitchen with complex aromas.

“How’s the seasoning?” 

Steve was snapped out of his admiring trance as a teaspoon of sauce was offered in his direction. He took it and licked it clean as Bruce’s face frowned in concentration once more.

“It’s… good. Bit more pepper, maybe?”

He adjusted the seasoning, tried it himself again before nodding. He grabbed two large bowls from the dishwasher and scooped out generous portions of rice, sauce and a medley of vegetables Steve wouldn’t have even noticed were still in the fridge had he tried to prepare anything himself.

Sitting down at the table, Bruce watched Steve eat enthusiastically before he tried it himself. Despite the hunger brought on by the Hulk and what he assumed was a hell of a work-out, he couldn’t stop himself from taking in every bite and savouring it. 

“I don’t know why you’re being shy, Bruce, because this is great,” Steve said, mouth half-full and pointing at the bowl with his fork. “Who taught you to cook?”

“Oh, no one person. I’d just ask to help out in the kitchens a lot when I was on the run as it was easy work and I liked the chatter and busyness. It kept me grounded.”

“Could you teach me sometime?”

Bruce smiled, “It’s not anything special. I just had to learn to cook with what I had, even if it was a bowl of rice and some choice spices.”

“My mom was good with that,” Steve said thoughtfully. “Not like this, but she knew how to make even boiled shoe-laces at least taste good.” He saw Bruce’s wry smile and he laughed. “I mean… it was never really boiled shoe-laces, we just joked it was.”

“The old Chaplin eating his shoe skit?”

“Oh what we would have given for a leather shoe to sample…”

They both chuckled before Steve went right back to eating his dinner, soon getting up to dish up seconds and make even more enthusiastic ‘Mmmm’ noises than the last.

Trying to smile in thanks, Bruce’s head were drooping into his hand as his elbow rested heavily on the table. He managed a few more bites - again, taking them in as if they were his last - before he shut his eyes.

He woke up once more in a darkened kitchen, his bowl still waiting in front of him, the other dishes now cleared and only the lingering smell of his creation to remind him what had happened. He pulled the bowl towards him once more and ate every forkful thoughtfully. It was stone-cold and no-way near as tasty as Steve had made out, but he couldn’t bear to waste it nonetheless.


	5. Shelter

He was counting the judders of the old service elevator that indicated each floor passing as soon as he woke up. His eyes took a long time to open and even longer to focus on the mass of people around him. He knew his body was bound before he even tried to move because he knew where he was and who he was with. This time they had opted for chains, which he thought was a smart move, all things considered.

The elevator juddered seven more time before it finally came to a grinding halt. Guns were checked and restraints tested before they moved him out, everyone surrounding him and not taking their eyes off of him for a second. Bruce wanted to ask what on earth they thought he was going to do but that was a stupid question and they’d only gas him again as a response.

They were heading to another elevator. One would think they were in the basement already, given the dim lighting and smell of damp rising from below, but it seemed not. They dragged him into the new elevator cart and hit the only button on the control panel designated to a floor and the descent started again.

This one was a lot smoother than the last and Bruce had to rely on his calculations based on the average speed of a modern military-grade elevator and his sense of smell as they headed further and further into the earth. He wondered, in a moment of madness, how long it would take the Hulk to dig to the centre.

The door opened again and at least five of the men helped to drag him to the one door at the end of a long corridor. They crossed through heavy, thick steel doors already open - six in total - before it took long and complicated codes plus fingerprint and retina scans of three of the men to open the door. 

Bruce was shown in, in the sense that he was dragged into the centre of the room and dumped on the floor. He barely had a second to gain some sense of the room he was in before darkness slammed around him like a tight fist around his neck and he was alone in his new prison cell.

Grunting, he slowly managed to drag his still bound body across the room until he reached the cool solid steel wall. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and braced against it as much as he could, using it as the best anchor he had at that moment because right then, it was all he had. 

He wondered, trying to hold back something between a sob and a laugh, how good the Hulk was at digging. 

\---

“No way, Bruce, this is will not do!”

He had heard Tony say those exact words at least twelve times today. This time, they hadn’t even stepped through the front entrance.

“It’s rustic.”

“It’s a drug den, you optimistic Disney character.”

Bruce, as always, ignored Tony and headed into the apartment complex and the next home for him to look at. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying living in Avengers Towers with every conceivable convenience at his fingertips but… that was exactly his issue with it. He needed to carve out his own little nook in the world, even if that meant a significant downgrade on technology and commuting from Queens to get to work. (He didn’t mind taking the subway anymore and Hulk quite enjoyed the swim across to Manhattan.)

“See, what did I tell you? They hook you in with some picture they took forty years ago when it was a new-build and now look at it.”

Again, Bruce ignored him as he stepped inside. Lots of natural light. Enough space for entertaining (himself, mostly, it wasn’t like he was going to throw any wild parties), a good-sized bedroom and spare room for his office. 

“I’ve seen supervillains crawl into better hovels to die.”

“Since when did you become so up on the housing market?”

“Since I started building my own housing market, dipshit. Look at that kitchen! My grandma would have spat on that kitchen.”

“It’s a fixer-upper,” Bruce shrugged. “Besides, when am I ever going to see a bigger place around here at this price?”

“You have a fucking whole floor to yourself right in the middle of Manhattan.”

“No, _you_ have a floor _for_ me. I want my own place to just do my own thing without JARVIS asking me if I want to know today’s temperature.”

“81 degrees, sir,” a small voice called from Tony’s watch, which he immediately covered up with a slap of his hand.

“Bruce, don’t live here. I’ll build you a home somewhere nice with… a library attached. A laboratory. A whole university!”

Ignoring him, Bruce was running his hand on the old wallpaper, wondering how many layers he would get to peel off shortly. Tony was most definitely pouting now.

“It smells of damp.”

“I can smell better than you and it just needs airing.”

“The windows aren’t even double-glazed.”

“I’ve done some carpentry in my time, I can fix that. And if not, I’m sure I can get a contractor in.”

Tony looked horrified at the thought of DIY as Bruce peered into the bathroom and started nodding to himself excitedly. His friend was starting to get desperate.

“You are over an hour away from everyone. What if we need you?”

“Argument invalid. Thor lives in another dimension to us.” Bruce finally turned to his stupid friend and grinned. “I’m buying this place.”

“No…” Tony moaned. “Please, at least let me buy out the other apartments so you don’t get stabbed by a neighbour.”

“Tony, since the accident, I haven’t been able to own anything, or even just live somewhere long enough to start receiving mail. All I want is enough room for my books and a little anonymity. I like fixing up old things and I can try my hand at a few new skills along the way. This is a million steps up from a lot of my temporary homes over the years and all your whining is doing is make me want it more.”

He was now grinning a little too broadly, almost maniacally, just so he could watch Tony’s face melt into a begrudging smile.

“Jesus, okay, just don’t invite me to the painting party.”

“And don’t plant any bugs in here. If you need me, just call me like a normal human being.”


End file.
